Piano Man
by Cru- That Uptown Girl
Summary: The hall just went on as if nothing was happening, despite the number of people being small enough to know exactly what each occupant was doing. Will assumed it must have been something along the lines of let sleeping dogs lie. Let shitfaced soldiers cry.


Will Lennox had long gotten in the habit of brining Sam home with him during his leave time. It had taken a while to get the bots along with the idea, especially Bee and Optimus. The yellow scout could only be placated when Sam promised to keep his phone on him at all times, and text or call at least once a day. Optimus had finally been coerced when Will pulled the "he needs a _human_ family" card. Even if the old-as-time robot was protective of the kid, and even if the bots, soldiers, techies and cafeteria staff treated him as one of their own, it was hard for anyone to deny that Sam severely lacked a familial setting following the death of his parents. All Will had to do was to throw up the dirty "family" card, and he could pull Sam off base for a portion of his own leave. On short leaves, Sam was allowed to stay longer; longer leaves he usually left a few weeks before Will. For Christmas vacations he got to spend the entire month and half with the Lennox family (something Sam himself had originally protested until Annabel threw an absolute _tantrum_ when her father mentioned that 'big brother Sam' would not be coming over for Christmas that year).

Thus, given that the kid was practically family in all respects save blood, he really should have expected it. After all, what self respecting, recently turned 21 year old hero would pass up the opportunity to have his first legal date with alcohol? So it really shouldn't have been a surprise when Sam dragged him from the comfort of his home and out into the cool November night on the third day of his leave. Lennox lived far enough out in farm land that there were no local bars. However a small pool hall was just down the road, and Sam decided that would be just fine for him. Ironhide was still in transit, and since Will seriously doubted either of them would be sober enough to drive, they walked.

It was… fun; to just walk, and talk, and laugh, and not worry about anything; just him and the lucky-against-all-odds kid who was half a brother to him. Lord knew the soldier hadn't relaxed in ages, the kid probably even more so. When they arrived at the pool hall a good 45 minutes later, Will was thoroughly looking forward to the night ahead. Sam all but skipped to the counter to buy the duo a couple of beers, gleefully flashing his ID (government, seeing as he could no longer get an American driver's license) despite having not been asked for it yet, and –to Will's surprise- two hours worth of pool.

"You play pool?" He asked the young ambassador. Sam only laughed and tossed him a cue stick.

"We'll see," he responded, mischievous grin plastered on his face as he pulled open his first beer. "Why, you wanna call bets?"

"Heck no kid; I know a swindler when I see one." Will snorted, putting back the cue Sam had given him in favor of choosing his own. Sam rolled his eyes.

Sam was startlingly good at pool, and Will had the good sense to voice his doubts on the now-legal boy's ethics to have had enough practice to achieve such talent. He blatantly refused to acknowledge that he had lost three out five games they had played so far, blaming it instead on the alcohol. He'd tried to grab for the helper stick several times, only to have to wrestle for it with Sam, whom eventually hauled off with damned thing and asked the barkeep to hide it for the remainder of their time (much to Will's protest). To Lennox's mixed delight and disdain, the jukebox played consistently all night long. Some rather loaded group of old men kept classics blaring from it's speakers the entire time. At one point Sam had the right mind to get half the bar singing along to "Bennie and the Jets."

"You're way too young to know this song." Will had half yelled at him over the dull roar of the forty years and older crowd jamming along with all their hearts.

"Oh, and you're not!" Sam scoffed. "You're like what, thirty something?"

"Thirty-eight, I grew up with this crap playing." Sam only laughed, spouting off another _"buh buh buh Bennie and the jetssss~!"_

Two hours, who knew how many songs, one punch drunk sixty year old woman dragging Sam off mid-game to dance with her, and ten games later (eight of which Will still refused to admit he gloriously lost), the soldier sidled into a booth near the back corner of the building and refused between laughs to go a single round more. Not that Sam hadn't tried to get him up; he snatched the man's arms and pulled until he wound up sliding to the floor with drunken giggles. Will lacked the decency to avoid laughing at the young ambassador as he half crawled under the table and hauled himself into the opposite bench. He shot a pathetic attempt at a glare at the still laughing Major before asking one of the two waitresses milling about for another beer.

At some point Sam challenged him to a game of darts, which went horribly on both of their parts. Sam admitted it was a dumb game to play while drinking, but he was thrilled to see the bar get a kick out of watching two of it's younger occupants fail miserably. One man even joined in on their game, gleefully rubbing it in both their faces when he hit the bullseye.

They traded the position of lead conversationalist for the next hour and half or so, just enjoying the night for what it was. Groups filtered in and out the building, the bell above the door clanging in greeting or goodbye to each in turn. The place smelled dully of cigarette smoke (despite the "No Smoking" signs) and cheap perfume, while the clatter of pool balls and occasional cheers or boos made for nice background noise. Sam ordered them both a platter of chicken tenders and fries, and Will gained a sneaking suspicion that more fries were being thrown between the two of them than being eaten.

They talked about the funnier events on base; The weather; The future, their pasts. Mentions were made of Will's trouble making days in high school, and Sam's glorious triumph over the bullies in his. Embarrassing moments in the frequent political meetings both had to be present for were not spared. They laughed for a good, long while about the time Sam's ear fell into the British Ambassador's soup. It was only the top half of his right that was missing, lost to Scalpel in another of many Decepticon skirmishes. After the incident, he'd stopped wearing it as often; Will teased that it was because the slightly tipsy fellow Ambassador's wife had commented that he looked "roguishly attractive" without it, and "herby decreed" that he no longer wear it.

Sam feverishly attempted to bury his face in his jacket when Will recounted the no-clearance-necessary version of the story to the old man in the booth behind them.

"And then" the soldier snorted out between bouts of laughter "The Ambassador – _The_ _British Ambassador_! – picks up this half an ear, and this boy here is still completely unaware mind you, and turns to the spokesman -" (it had been Galloway, but that was a clearance necessary detail) " – and _waves_ it at him! So he's sitting there, waving this _ear_ at the guy and saying 'See here now, sir; you've talked the poor boy's ear off! I don't know about the rest of you lads, but I'm glad I'm half deaf by now, otherwise mine would probably be dropping as well!' And Sam is red as a _beet_, let me tell you!"

"I think you've already told him enough." Sam had argued, only to receive a fistful of fries in his hair as a response.

Embarrassing stories, howling out old songs, and juvenile fry tossing preoccupied them until finally people began to filter out of the pool hall. Soon enough it was Will, Sam, and maybe only ten other people milling about the place. By Will's opinion, it was the most fun thing since testing the latest NEST weapons the week before.

And then Sam started talking about dead people.

And Lennox finally got it. He finally got why Sam drug him out to a pull hall to drink his liver up the first few days of his vacation from the stressful days on base. The jukebox had switched hands some time during the night, and the mellow tones of Coldplay and too many old singers the new music-dictator enjoyed seemed to suit not only the slow night hours, but the new direction of conversation.

He tried to change the topic several times, but somehow Sam always brought it right back. How the Hell was the kid sober enough to talk about things like that anyway? Or maybe that was the point. Everyone on base knew that when it came to NEST, Lennox didn't cry. He blew shit up, he shouted, kicked, smarted off to politician's faces, and he mourned in his own way, but Lennox did not cry. Not unless he was drunk as can be. And somehow Sam, who rarely ever cried himself, had figured that out.

It took several attempts on the alien Ambassadors part, but he finally roped Will into the very conversation he always sought to avoid. He talked about those lost in the first Decepticon attack on his old base. Sam talked about the attack on his college. Lennox talked about the hundreds of soldiers friends who and depended on him, but that he'd loss. Sam talked about the Decepticons murder of his parents, and the former classmates he only somewhat knew but were killed anyway. Lennox talked about Prime's temporary death; how it felt to see them just toss him on the ground like a piece of trash instead of a hero. Sam talked about watching Prime die. Lennox talked about watch Sam die. And then he let loose. He talked and talked and talked. And Sam just listened to Lennox to let it all out like he hadn't known he needed, but somehow Sam had.

Finally, about half way through Billy Joel's "Piano Man," the tough as nails soldier broke down and cried. He leaned into the table, burying his face in his arms in an only half-mindful attempt to make his sobs less obvious. Sam didn't try to say "it's alright" or stop him. He didn't say a word, didn't need to; he'd already been crying anyway. He just let Lennox cry his heart out as he nursed whatever drink he had started on.

And amazingly no one else bothered them. The jukebox finished up "Piano Man" and went on to another song uninterrupted. The clatter of cues and balls across the tables never ceased. The hall just went on as if nothing was happening, despite the number of people being small enough to know exactly what each occupant was doing. Will assumed it must have been something along the lines of 'let sleeping dogs lie'. Let shitfaced soldiers cry.

When he'd finally stopped crying, he quietly stood and pulled Sam to his feet, yanking the other military man into an uncharacteristic bear hug. It's was eleven but the time he and Sam managed to hobble out of the bar. They stumbled along the dirt country road towards the Lennox ranch until Ironhide (whom apparently had arrived while they were out, and was sent by Sarah to go make sure they weren't passed out in a ditch somewhere) pulled up beside them and ushered them inside. Unsurprisingly, Sam fell asleep as soon as he crawled into the passenger seat. Feeling more sober than he actually was, Will managed to stay up. With some clever seat-tipping from Ironhide, he managed to haul the dead weight of the other man into the house and set him up on the couch.

He mingled around the house a bit longer, taking the time to kiss Annabel and brush his teeth before he crawled into bed beside Sarah. As soon as he pulled the covers around himself, she turned to him, wrapping her arms around his chest and snuggling against his back.

"You have a good cry, soldier?" She whispered, and Will could hear the sad smile in her voice.

"He told you, huh? Wondered why you let us go." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

"No, but Ironhide saw you two through the window."

"Traitor." Will snorted and Sarah grinned. "Sam's one too."

"They both mean well."

"More like Sam doesn't like people being pissy at Christmas." Sarah giggled at that.

"Just go to sleep, hero."

"Yeah yeah, see you in the morning gorgeous." He mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. "If I don't have too much of a hangover to keep my eyes open, that is."

[ _fin._ ]

* * *

_So. Long time no update. Haha, sorry folks! If it's any consolation I actually have two other half written stories right now. I keep hitting the middle and not being able to finish. I'll get 'em done soon enough though, don't you worry. But this one I had to get done; it kept haunting me. :C_

_Not sure if it came out quite as nice as I wanted it too. The original idea was just "Piano Man", Will and Sam drunk and crying, and a pool hall. Then I had to elaborate, and elaborate more because I was like "FFFFFFF not posting story under 1,000 words!" And the ending was originally Will looking back on that night and Sam being dead or hurt or something, but I didn't feel like making this that sad. Soooo. Yeah. Hope it's enjoyable non-the less._

_LOL, and yes, for some reason my Sam has a missing top-ear. I don't know why I do it, I just do. My mental/big-plot-that-will-likely-never-see-the-light-of-day storyboard has a lot of random stuff like that. It's only really in this one because A) elaboration and B) I had that adorable idea with ear shaking forever, and I will never have a story to put it in. :C So there you have it. I have no knowledge of the British Ambassador. Only that in my verse, he's a goofy old coot with a tipsy wife that likes to hit on young men._

_ALSO. You guys know why I write these long author's notes? BECAUSE I WANT YOU SLAGGERS TO TALK TO ME. No, not review, though those are nice too. Talk. To. Me. I have a tumblr, go talk to me there. Or my DA. Or subeta for crying out loud. I CRAVE HUMAN VIA INTERNET CONTACT._

_But yep. Enjoy. Un-beta'd, as all my stuff is, so cut me some slack there._


End file.
